


Copacabana

by Wheresmycow2



Series: Douglas has control [3]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: A girl named Lola, Blood and broken limbs, Friendship, Gen, Martin knows his Manilow songs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:15:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wheresmycow2/pseuds/Wheresmycow2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things become very not brilliant for Arthur, and Douglas really has to save the day. But can he?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Copacabana

**Author's Note:**

> Betaed by the brilliant [Branwyn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/branwyn/pseuds/branwyn). But I did make some last-minute changes, so any remaining errors are all mine.

**London Heathrow, 1.30 PM**  
  
Arthur looks pale and frightened, standing between the two customs officers. He glances at Carolyn, then looks at Martin until his gaze fixes on Douglas, a silent question and a hint of hope in his eyes. Douglas feels his chest tighten. If there were ever a time to think up something clever and fix things, it is now.  
  
“It’ll be alright, Arthur, we’ll sort it out,” he says, and nods reassuringly, realizing all too well that there isn’t a thing he can do to stop Heathrow’s customs from arresting Arthur.  
  
“Sir,” one of the officers urges, and then Arthur is led away. Shoulders slumped and head hanging, he doesn’t even look back.  
  
“But it doesn’t make any sense,” Martin mutters under his breath. “I mean, it’s Arthur! He wouldn’t. He couldn’t…”  
  
“He hasn’t done anything wrong.” Carolyn’s voice sounds strangely hoarse.  
  
“Yes, no, sorry,” Martin immediately apologizes. “I meant, of course, of course he’s innocent.”  
  
“Carolyn, Martin, think back,” Douglas says grimly. ”We are going to figure out exactly what happened today and then we’ll _fix_ it.“  
  
* * *  
  
 **(10 hours earlier)**  
  
“I can’t smile without you,” Martin offered, just as Arthur entered with a coffee tray.  
  
“Could it be magic?” Douglas replied.  
  
“Hi chaps, what are you playing?”  
  
“Oh, nothing, Martin has just declared his undying love for me.”  
  
“What? No! Of course not!”  
  
Douglas chuckled. “Sorry Martin, please stop blushing. And Arthur, the game is Barry Manilow songs.”  
  
“Oh! I know one! Copacabana!”  
  
“Well done, Arthur. However, we did already think of that one, maybe because we took off from _Copacabana Airport_ ten minutes ago.”  
  
“Oh, okay. Still, it’s weird isn’t it? Really. Weird. And brilliant!”  
  
“What is exactly, Arthur?” Martin inquired politely.  
  
“Well, that there are two cities called Copacabana, one in Brazil and one in Colombia. Imagine flying from Copacabana to Copacabana! It would take you hours, and you’d still end up in Copacabana! And imagine you were born in Copacabana, then moved to Copacabana, and someone would ask ‘Were you born in Copacabana?’ and then you’d say ‘Oh no! I was born in Copacabana!’ And they’d look at you all surprised and puzzled until you explained about there being another Copacabana! I wish there were two Fittons as well! Wouldn’t that be just great!”  
  
“I fear that having two Fittons would also be very confusing,” Martin said. “I’d probably end up at the wrong airfield all the time.”  
  
“And those are wise, introspective words from our captain, Arthur. Thanks to Fitton’s delightful uniqueness, Martin always finds his way home. And Martin? Mandy.”  
  
“What? Oh, yes! I write the songs.”  
  
“Good one! You clever thing, you.”  
  
In other words, everything had seemed perfectly normal. Arthur had been his cheery self during the first hours of the flight, occasionally bouncing into the flight deck to inform the pilots of interesting facts about their passengers. Or, interesting to Arthur at least.  
  
“So this couple is just married, and they’ve spent their honeymoon backpacking through South America! It’s amazingly brilliant!”  
  
“How utterly romantic,” Douglas remarked, thinking of how very not amazingly brilliant it would be to spend a honeymoon in Latin America, _of all continents_. He himself had taken all three of his brides on luxurious, ridiculously expensive trips with romance written all over them. He thought of Vienna, Paris, and Venice and felt a sting of melancholy. Perfect honeymoons those had been. They should have been the start of perfect marriages.  
  
“Backpacking for a honeymoon,” Martin pondered. “Well, I suppose you would really get to know each other. Question is if you’d want to, on your honeymoon.”  
  
It’s a question Douglas decided not to answer, while Arthur almost trembled with excitement as he continued: “But listen! Do you guys think that if Mum marries Herc, well, maybe, I don’t know, but they actually could get married in the future, you never know, but say if they do, do you think they may…”  
  
“Go backpacking, and take you along?” Martin frowned. “No Arthur, I really don’t think that’ll happen.”  
  
“I agree. A highly probable ‘no’, regarding all _three_ hypotheses, in fact,” Douglas said.  
  
* * *  
  
When Arthur brought them dinner, he said: “Skip, Douglas, did you know one of the passengers actually has a broken leg?”  
  
“Oh, you didn’t break it yourself, I hope?” Douglas asked.  
  
“No, it was already broken when he got on board. He’s got a cast and he’s really nice. Mum was talking to him about being rich and he told her he fell off a bike. That’s how he broke his leg. Which is weird because why would you break your leg when you fall off a bike? When I was a kid, I fell of my bike all the time, and I never- ”  
  
“Arthur, can you wind back to Carolyn talking about ‘being rich’?” Martin interrupted. ‘Because I think I’d like to have a word with her if she actually said that.”  
  
“And I’ll back you up, Sir,” Douglas added generously.  
  
“Oh, well, he just asked her about being a CEO of an airline and being wealthy and stuff.”  
  
“And what exactly did she say?”  
  
“Oh, um. She said that it's easy to make a small fortune in aviation, but only if you start with a really large fortune, and that she herself unfortunately started with a small fortune. I’ve heard her say that before, that’s why I remember it so well.”  
  
Arthur suddenly seemed to remember something else. “Oh! There’s also a passenger, a woman, a girl, she’s quite nice by the way, although Mum doesn’t seem to like her very much. But anyway, her name is Lola, and you guys will not believe this, but she… is…”  
  
It seemed Arthur went for a really dramatic pause.  
  
“A showgirl?” Martin suggested, obviously trying to hold down a giggle and not really succeeding.  
  
Douglas chortled: “With yellow feathers in her hair, and a dress cut down to there?”  
  
“No, no, she’s wearing jeans,” Arthur replied. “No, she is actually… really… allergic to peanuts! I’ve never met someone before who was allergic to peanuts. I mean, I’ve heard lots about people who were, because that’s why there’s a warning on the packages of nuts that they may contain traces of nuts, but to actually meet one, it’s great!”  
  
* * *  
  
 **London Heathrow, 1.45 PM**  
  
“Douglas, trying to remember every single minute of the flight isn’t getting us anywhere!” Martin cries out. “And why is it taking so long? We’ve waited for hours!”  
  
“Fifteen minutes,” Carolyn says, staring at her watch. Douglas realises she does look like a little old lady now, lost in worries over her only child. He can’t help thinking of how he would feel if it were his daughter being strip searched while one hundred percent innocent of any crime, and he has to bite down something that could easily turn into rage before he can say something.  
  
“We know he is innocent, and really, Martin, the only way to prove that is by hurting our brains recalling the entire flight. So far, we know nobody even touched Arthur or his hand luggage during those first hours, because Carolyn was in the cabin all the time, and we ourselves can vouch for all the time he spent with us in the flight deck, providing us with detailed information about the passengers. Information that just could turn out to be some sort of evidence.  
  
Martin sighed. “I suppose you’re right, sorry. And at least we’re on British soil. Thank God this didn’t happen in-“  
  
* * *  
  
 **(5 hours earlier)**  
  
“..in Ankara, and that’s in Turkey! But he was framed, someone put something illegal in his bag and he ended up in prison!” Having a passenger who had seen a Turkish prison from the inside apparently was another exciting first for Arthur.  
  
“Arthur, coffee?” Martin asked cautiously.  
  
Arthur grinned. “No Skip, coffee is legal in the entire world! At least, I think it is. Anyway, no, he was arrested for carrying drugs. Oh, you mean you want some coffee?”  
  
They never got their coffee until much, much later though, because that was about the exact moment when things began to go a bit downhill during the otherwise uneventful flight.  
  
There was just a little bit of turbulence, and someone in the cabin shrieked. Arthur froze. “Oh, no, that’s Lola!” and then ran off.  
  
According to Carolyn’s memory, most of the passengers had been quiet, some of them sleeping. Ankara prison man was reading a book. The newly-weds had been drinking quite a bit of wine, and were kissing rather enthusiastically. The man with the broken leg was on his way to the toilet, and Carolyn herself was talking to an elderly lady from Bristol. The turbulence lasted just long enough for a lost cashew nut to roll from under a seat and come to rest against nut-allergic Lola-not-a-showgirl’s foot.  
  
Lola shrieked, Arthur came running into the cabin, tripped, fell face first against a solid plaster cast, and then the broken leg man stumbled and landed sideways on the kissing couple. Their drinks went flying, the bride bit down, resulting in quite an amount of blood, and shouting and screaming from all parties involved, especially from Lola.  
  
Hearing the alarming noises from the cabin, Douglas had risen from his seat, briefly placing a hand on Martin’s shoulder. “I’ll just go check on the passengers. Please take control, Sir.”  
  
“Yes,” Martin had said, wide-eyed. “Yes, I have control. Yes.”  
  
* * *  
  
Ten minutes later, everything had more or less quieted down. Lola’s screaming had been effectively stopped by Ankara-prison man hitting her over the head with a Terry Pratchett novel, shouting “Shut the fuck up!” The elderly lady who had involuntary caught the newly-weds’ drinks, was drying her hair with a towel provided by Carolyn, who was now checking the minor scratch the Discworld novel had caused to Lola’s forehead.  
  
"When I fly other airlines, things like these never happen to me!" Lola complained loudly.  
  
Carolyn gritted her teeth. “Madam, when you fly other airlines, things like these don’t happen to me either." She then turned to Ankara prison guy, and appropriately scolded him for attacking other passengers, no matter how infuriatingly stupid they were.  
  
Douglas had examined the nasty cut in the new husband’s tongue and had his wife press a towel-wrapped ice cube to the wound. He left the shaky couple with instructions and more ice cubes, washed his hands in the galley and decided to check on Arthur, who had sat down in one of the empty seats.  
  
“Oh Douglas, it’s all weird in my head,” Arthur moaned.  
  
“You may have a mild concussion,” Douglas soothed, noticing the slightly dilated pupils. Arthur’s nose fortunately appeared to be still in one piece. Douglas gently ran a finger over the rapidly growing bump on Arthur’s forehead. “That was quite some crash landing, Arthur.”  
  
“Arthur, are you alright? Douglas, is he alright?” Carolyn’s voice came from behind him.  
  
Arthur sneezed, luckily only spraying snotty dust over his own lap, then coughed up some tiny crumbs of plaster and smiled at Carolyn. “Feeling a bit better already, Mum.”  
  
“He’ll be just fine,” Douglas replied. “Go get some towels and ice cubes for that bump, Carolyn. They’re my signature cure for everything. And some paracetamol, he’s bound to have one colossal headache.”  
  
“Oh, I’d rather not. Paracetamol always makes him hyperactive. I think we do have some ibuprofen-“  
  
“Oh come on, paracetamol can’t possibly cause hyperactiveness. Trust me, I do have some medical knowledge, and ibuprofen increases the risk of bleeding. So, with the possibility of a concussion, paracetamol it is.  
  
Carolyn raised an eyebrow. “Alright, alright, but if he starts bouncing through the cabin, I swear I will make your life hell.”  
  
Douglas smiled and walked back to the cockpit, passing the man with the broken leg.  
  
“Is the leg alright, Sir?” Douglas asked.  
  
“Oh yes, quite. It’s a good old solid cast. Both young lads were less lucky, I think. And I am ever so sorry for causing all this trouble.”  
  
“It wasn’t your fault, Sir,” Douglas reassured him. “Just a silly accident.”  
  
* * *  
  
“So, Martin, in future job interviews, you could mention the fact you once flew a plane full of wounded people over the Atlantic,” Douglas ended the slightly exaggerated version of the events.  
  
Martin smiled at that. “And I bet you’ll now add to your CV that you were once a Flying Doctor.”  
  
“Oh Lord, yes.” Douglas laughs. “Back when that series first aired, I had a girlfriend who never missed an episode and made me watch as well. I think it actually influenced my decision to quit medicine and become a pilot. The pilots always got the pretty girls and do the really exciting stuff.”  
  
Martin’s face lit up. “Grass landings in thunderstorms, on those tiny muddy runways!”  
  
Douglas chuckled. “And that one time landing on a road, right in the middle of the Australian outback.”  
  
“And Australia is absolutely brilliant!” a familiar voice suddenly startled both of them.  
  
As they turned to look at Arthur, he grinned ear-to-ear. “In Australia they have kangaroos, and kangaroos are almost as good as polar bears! I really would like to know more about kangaroos, I might even buy a book or two and I think we should all plan a trip to the zoo and actually watch the kangaroos! And, of course, the polar bears. Because in the zoo, there will also be polar bears! So, how does that sound to you, chaps? How about we just pick a date and have a nice day at the zoo and have jolly good fun!“  
  
“Oh my God,” Martin whispered. “ What did you do to him?”  
  
“Arthur, my boy,” Douglas said, “you seem remarkably cheery and well, up on your feet, while I would seriously recommend you being not on your feet.”  
  
“I know, but I feel fine now! I really do. I do have a bit of a headache, but it’s just a bit. A tiny little bit nothing to worry about. And anyway, Mum sent me, and I have a message for you, Douglas. I’ve written it down, because Mum was a bit irritated and then I got a bit irritated too, and we decided writing it down would be the sensible thing to do. I myself thought it would be more sensible if she came to speak to you herself, but she convinced me with really scary stories of how a plane could crash if a CEO attacked a First Officer on a flight deck mid-air, so, here I am!”  
  
“There you are indeed,” said Douglas, feeling remarkably uncomfortable all of a sudden. “So what’s the message?”  
  
Arthur looked at the piece of paper in his hands. “Okay, well, Mum said, Douglas you idiot I warned you about the paracetamol and does this look overexcited and hyperactive well I think it does it is even far worse than I have ever seen so you make him sit down and stay put and don’t let him anywhere near the passengers or I’ll give half your salary to Martin from now on honest to god I will you utter nitwit.”  
  
For a brief moment, Douglas had to think about a proper reply, but then Martin took a deep breath and said: “Arthur, please go ask each and every passenger if they like kangaroos.”  
  
“Oh yes Skip, what a brilliant idea! I’ll do that right away!” Arthur yelled.  
  
“ARTHUR, YOU WILL NOT!” Douglas barked in his lowest, loudest, most commanding voice ever. Arthur hesitated, just long enough for Douglas to jump from his seat and grab him by the arm.  
  
“Just wait a moment, please, Arthur.” Douglas gave Martin a fuming look. He received a blank look, a blush and a shrug in return.  
  
“If I understand correctly, I will get paid half your salary if I can get Arthur to bother some passengers. So…”  
  
“So what?”  
  
“So give me twenty-five percent, Douglas, and I will help you keep the rest of your salary.”  
  
Douglas’s hand around Arthur’s arm tightened a bit. “Who the hell are you and where did you leave my Captain’s dead body?”  
  
“It’s about money, Douglas.” Martin sighed. “I need that money. I really do. So, twenty-five percent, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep Arthur from bouncing on passengers and prevent Carolyn to come after you with a more serious pay cut or with a fire axe.”  
  
Douglas considered his options briefly.  
  
Arthur tried to pull his arm free from Douglas’s grip. “I think I’ll go and ask Lola for a date.”  
  
“Five percent,” Douglas said.  
  
“Fifteen.”  
  
“Seven.”  
  
“Ten. And then you can fly the plane and have the landing while I’ll keep Arthur busy.”  
  
“God Martin, who knew you had it in you after all. But it seems I don’t have much of a choice. Deal.”  
  
* * *  
  
By the time they were approaching Heathrow, Martin looked exhausted. If the whole thing hadn’t cost him ten percent of his salary, Douglas would probably have felt a bit sorry for him. He had however already done some rough calculations, and with a bit of creative bending of the income tax rules it seemed that his monthly increase wouldn’t be more than the price of dinner in a nice, well, exceptionally nice restaurant.  
  
For the last couple of hours, Arthur had gradually but slowly turned back into his relatively normal self, and Martin had succeeded in keeping him sitting on the flight deck, with numerous word games, going through safety procedures, talking about kangaroos, practicing the phonetic alphabet and finally, singing tunes from ancient children’s television series . Douglas actually felt relieved when Carolyn stormed in during Arthur’s loud interpretation of the Inspector Gadget’s theme.  
  
“Have you all now completely lost your minds?” she demanded.  
  
“Sorry Carolyn,” Martin said.  
  
“Sorry Mum,” Arthur said.  
  
“I didn’t sing,” Douglas said innocently, and casually checked some readings. “Martin is in charge of Arthur.”  
  
Carolyn obviously decided not to comment on that, turned to Arthur and warned: “No singing. You will not sing anything until we have landed and there is at least a mile distance between paying passengers and your voice!”  
  
“Okay Mum,” Arthur replied meekly, and brightened up as soon as she left: “Skip, Martin, Skip! She didn’t say you couldn’t sing! And I love it when you sing and I know you can sing ever so quietly because I’ve heard you sing to yourself very softly when you think nobody can hear you and I don’t mean to listen because obviously you don’t want anybody to hear you singing when you sing softly, but I can’t help listening and I like it a lot. Please, Skip?”  
  
While Martin turned his trademark red without having a reply ready, Douglas smiled and said: “If it is any comfort to you, Martin, I agree with Arthur. I too have heard some of your quiet singing and you do have a lovely singing voice. And I think I might have stumbled over the biggest understatement of this century when I say it’s probably better for all of us if you sing quietly to Arthur than the two of you doing another round of charades.“  
  
“Oh, well, I don’t know, I…” Martin said.  
  
“Please!” Arthur begged. “Do that one with Keep smiling, keep shining!”  
  
“Keep smiling?” Martin frowned. “Oh! That’s what friends are for! Oh, well, okay then.”  
  
Martin sang, very quietly, Arthur kept silent and Douglas felt strangely content. Not long now before they could start the landing procedure, and it would be another typical MJN job well done. He didn’t even notice he was quietly humming along until the song ended.  
  
* * *  
  
After arriving at Heathrow, waiting for clearance to take off and head home, the four of them decided to briefly stretch their legs. And then they walked passed two customs officers with a drug detection dog. Arthur said ‘Hello!” to the chocolate labrador, approached it to let the dog sniff his hand and pet it.  
  
“Sir, please don’t,” one of the officers said, but then closed his mouth when the dog let out an excited bark. It jumped up to Arthur, sniffing enthusiastically at his clothes and finally licking his face while wagging its tail like mad.  
  
Douglas bit down a curse as he watched the officers exchange looks with raised eyebrows, while Arthur was still happily cuddling the dog.  
  
“Oh dear lord,” Carolyn whispered.  
  
“Oh no, no, no,” Martin uttered.  
  
“I have a dog myself.” Arthur looked up at the officers. “That must be why she likes me so much.” And then his face dropped.  
  
“Sir, you will have to come with us,” the dog handler said.  
  
Carolyn gasped, Martin moaned and Douglas cursed and sprang into action. He tried his utmost to convince the officers that this must be a mistake. The crew had been checked thoroughly when leaving Aruba, and they didn’t even get through customs in Colombia. And their steward would never, ever smuggle drugs.  
  
It had no effect whatsoever, and Douglas had to decide to back off. Keep civil, make certain both Carolyn and Martin also stayed calm and professional as Arthur was taken away.  
  
And he had to fix this.  
  
Now, about thirty minutes later, they are sitting near the customs office where Arthur is being held and searched and interrogated and Douglas has to admit that he can’t fix this. The three of them have recalled every damn second of the entire flight, and there is nothing that hints at slipping drugs to Arthur.  
  
He tries to convince himself that it isn’t that bad. Of course Arthur will be released eventually, because there can’t be any real evidence that he was smuggling drugs. But they may hold him overnight, and if some bastard did manage to slip some heroin in his pockets or cocaine in his bag, it could well be days. Douglas desperately hopes it won’t be. Arthur should not be in custody at all, and he fears Carolyn can’t handle the stress. Despite her stoic face Douglas can see how she’s biting down on both panic and rage, and he understands exactly how she feels. If it had been his child… Carolyn apparently manages better than he would.  
  
He turns to look at Martin, who is simply looking miserable, silently sitting with his head in his hands.  
  
In an impulse, he lays a hand on his captain’s shoulder. Martin sighs and lets his hands drop in his lap.  
  
“You’ve got something on your shoe,” he points out.  
  
Of all times, Douglas thinks, but still looks down. There’s a streak of white powder on the nose of his foot.  
He is about to say it must be just plaster dust from the broken leg man’s cast, and then a bizarre idea pops into his head.  
  
White powder.  
  
He bends down to run his finger over the stain and then licks at it very carefully.  
  
“Oh,” he says.  
  
“What is it?” Martin asks, suddenly alert.  
  
“I have no idea,” Douglas replies thoughtfully. “But it’s definitely not plaster. Long and slightly embarrassing story, but I actually do know what plaster tastes like. And this is not it.”  
And then everything suddenly seems to fall into place.  
  
Douglas checks his watch. It’s been half an hour, and luggage processing at Heathrow is always terribly slow. So with a little luck...  
  
“Carolyn!”, he shouts. ”Go talk to customs, make them bring that sniffer dog, or any sniffer dog, and then meet us at baggage reclaim. Martin, with me, come on!”  
  
And then Douglas starts to run, and after less than a minute he is already panting, cursing his age and his bad condition. He desperately needs a little luck, and more air, and less weight to carry, and younger legs…  
  
“What is the plan exactly?” Martin asks, effortlessly jogging along.  
  
“Broken leg guy,” Douglas gasps, and then he has to stop before his body will just give up.  
  
“The cast…,” he pants, “I think it's compressed cocaine… Arthur inhaled it… got it all over him.”  
  
Without even questioning him, Martin runs off. Douglas watches him for a moment, surprised and even a bit envious that such a short man could run so very, very fast. Next, he finds a wall to lean against, closes his eyes and tries to take deep, even breaths.  
  
After both his breathing and the pounding of his heart have finally slowed down a bit, he opens his eyes, and finds he has two reasons to smile. From his right, Carolyn is ushering a bewildered looking custom’s officer with an eager blond labrador in his direction.  
  
From the opposite side, a furiously blushing Martin is running towards him, pushing a wheel chair holding a familiar man with his leg in a cast. The man is yelling and cursing, but Martin clearly has a goal and it looks as if nothing is going to stop him.  
  
As the two parties meet, right in front of Douglas, he worries for a brief moment. He could have been wrong after all.  
  
But of course there’s no need for silly thoughts like that. The lab takes one sniff, and then it starts to bark enthusiastically. While Douglas walks towards the scene, slowly, he notices uniformed assistance is already approaching.  
  
“The cast is probably made of compressed cocaine,” he hears Martin tell the dog handler. “Our good steward came in close contact, but he has nothing to do with any smuggling of drugs.”  
  
And after that, it’s all surprisingly easy. It does take another hour of explaining, but that really doesn’t matter, because Arthur is with them and he is beaming happiness once more, offering hugs to all three of them throughout the whole process. And when they are finally allowed to get back on Gerti, Douglas suddenly has his arms full of Carolyn.  
  
“I thank you, and I owe you an apology, Douglas,” she says. Next he receives an awkward hug from Martin, looking up to him in admiration as if he really was the sky god he always pretends to be.  
  
“And thank you too,” Carolyn tells Martin as she briefly hugs him. “You making a citizens’ arrest and handing that criminal over to the authorities was a remarkably brave thing to do.”  
  
He eyes her in disbelief. “It was? I was afraid I would look rather ridiculous, with the running and the wheel chair and everything.”  
  
Douglas grins. “I must say, it did have a certain comical quality to it.”  
  
“Oh, in retrospect, it was hilariously funny,” Carolyn says. “And I do hope someone caught it on camera and puts it on Youtube.”  
  
“Carolyn!” Martin protests.  
  
“No, no whining, back to business now. Do you two idiots think you can fly us all home or do I have to pay hard-earned money for a hotel?”  
  
“I guess Arthur really needs to sleep in his own bed tonight. So let’s go home,” Martin says. Douglas simply nods.  
  
* * *  
  
The short flight to Fitton goes by in peaceful silence, until Martin says:  
  
“Looks like we made it.”  
  
“It certainly does.”  
  
“I agree, but I meant _Looks like we made it_ , by Barry Manilow.”  
  
“Ah yes. Let’s see. I made it through the rain.”  
  
“Oh, I like that song. What’s the score?”  
  
“Martin, I have no idea.”  
  
“Good. We both win this one then.”  
  
“I think we do.”  
  
Fifteen minutes later, after an remarkably smooth touch down, Martin lets out a content sigh and informs Fitton ATC of their having landed.  
  
"Golf Tango India, always good to have you idiots and your silly plane back safe and sound, please proceed to stand position 69.”  
  
Carl sounded a bit off tonight, and Douglas wonders if his colleagues in London may have informed him of the cause of their delay. The tale of a crew member being detained and the following arrest of a passenger could have travelled fast. He gestures to Martin he wants to do the read back, and Martin leans back, smiling.  
  
“Carl, you naughty thing! Stand position 69 it is. Just tell us what you want, nose in or out?”  
  
“Golf Tango India, just park that damn plane of yours and go home!”  
  
“Will do so, ATC, and we’ve genuinely missed you too. It’s very good to be home.”  
  
He flicks off the switch and smiles at Martin, who grins and neatly parks Gerti, nose in.  
  
“It is really good to be home, Douglas.”  
  
“Oh yes. Yes Captain, it is.”

  


**Author's Note:**

> The main plot of this story, being the cast made of compressed cocaine, is based on a [ true story ](http://www.abc.net.au/news/2009-03-07/broken-legged-smuggler-caught-with-cocaine-cast/1611272)
> 
> I googled the effects of inhalation of a very small dose of cocaine, and it seems that among other things, it actually could turn you into Arthur Shappey: high levels of energy and activity, excited, exuberant speech and an extremely elevated mood. So I figured Arthur could become just more Arthurry after having inhaled some cocaine from the cast. 
> 
> I chose MJN flying from Copacabana, Columbia over the city with the same name in Brazil a) because Colombia seemed more likely to provide MJN with a drug smuggler, and b) because the flight time to the UK is a bit shorter, although I doubt 10 hours is legal with two pilots, but then again, John Finnemore himself violates those rules all the time.


End file.
